First Snow
by kuhlaine
Summary: AU. Kurt Hummel is still reeling from his mothers recent death when a strange series of disappearances rocks the his hometown of Lima, Ohio. With a snowstorm approaching, paranoia quickly settles over Lima and its residents - all with the exception of Kurt's strange new neighbor, Blaine, the stoic boy with the wild curls who seems immune to the cold.
1. Chapter 1

They'd both known the snow would make things harder. The first appearance of snowflakes and frost on the kitchen windowpane elicited a collective sigh from the Hummel household - first from Burt as he stumbled blearily into the kitchen at 5am, scrambling for coffee before he headed off to work at 6, and later from his son, Kurt, at 8am. Kurt had drifted through his morning routine, the corners of his vision blurred by his lack of proper sleep. He'd awarded himself a moment of quiet as he stood at the window in the kitchen, munching halfheartedly on his breakfast of nearly stale toast. The jungle gym in the center of their apartment complex gleamed with the first snowflakes of winter, a halo of untouched white beginning to form around it.

Winters were always hard on the Hummel family. Burt became more generally sullen as the cold descended on their small town of Lima, Ohio, grumbling every morning as he shoved on a second and a third layer of coveralls for work. Winters in Lima were known to be bitter and unforgiving, and the lack of proper ventilation in his auto repair shop didn't do him any favors. His wife, Elizabeth, had nagged him for years to get an old family friend, Dennis Hudson, to come take a look at the shop's radiator, finally cut himself and his employees a break during the harsh winter months. When Dennis Hudson had passed away not five years earlier, he'd used it as an excuse for continuing to put off the project. Not for the first time in the past several weeks, he found himself wishing he'd listened to her.

Kurt, Elizabeth and Burt's teenaged pride and joy was no fan of the winter either. While he was grateful that his unusually pale, tinged with under hints of rose, skin was considered the norm, he'd often complained about the limitations on his clothing options.

"But I thought you loved layers?" his mother had asked him warily one year, standing at his doorway as she watched him toss shirts and pants from his closet at an alarming rate.

"Layers for warmth are not the same as layers for fashion!" he'd snapped, Elizabeth ducking as she narrowly missed being hit by a flying cardigan.

While the Hummel family suffered the same winter plagues as every other family in Lima - from sniffles, fevers, broken heaters, and one year a full blown flu outbreak, Elizabeth kept her head high. She kept a modest but comfortable home for her husband and son, working tirelessly to keep them all from falling into a slump as the skies turned grey and streets turned to slush. It was the little things she did that kept everyone in good spirits: a surprise apple pie for dessert one night - Kurt and Burt basking in the scent of cinnamon and vanilla as she cut off a piece for each of them. "I had some extra time today," she'd say with a shrug, though they both knew just how hard she'd worked to find that extra bit of time. Once Kurt had come home to find his wardrobe reorganized by color, something he'd been meaning to do for quite some time but kept pushing off as finals approached. His mother was curled on his bed, sleeping soundly with a broom propped up at the foot of the bed. He'd smiled, thrown a quilt over, and spent the night in the guest room.

The first signs that something was wrong came along in the final days of the previous years winter. Elizabeth had grown quiet, her husband and son shooting each other suspicious glances over dinner each night as their beloved matriarch pushed around the food on her plate, seldom taking substantial asked what was wrong she'd respond with a shrug and a weak smile. "Just feeling under the weather," she'd say, or, "My allergies are coming in early this year." It wasn't until Burt had spotted a nasty spattering of harsh bruises along her shoulder blades that he demanded the truth.

Breast cancer. Stage four. It had been stage three when she'd first been diagnosed in November, but had progressed quickly when she refused treatment month after month. Elizabeth remained firm in her opinion, despite both her husband and son's passionate protests. She continued to refuse treatment, allowing nature, and the disease, to run its course. She'd insisted that the family didn't have the finances to fund the necessary treatment - they were already barely scraping by with each weekly paycheck. Elizabeth had been able to pick away at her retirement fund to cover the costs of her monthly doctors appointments, but even those funds had begun to run low as the summer approached.

Without much else to do but hope, Burt and Kurt watched as Elizabeth faded away, growing quieter and smaller as the weeks went by, until she was gone. It had been a surprisingly calm evening as Burt and Kurt headed straight to the hospital after their respective work/school days. Hospital visits weren't uncommon at this stage of Elizabeth's life, and they'd fallen into a routine. Elizabeth had been admitted on Monday of that week when she suddenly found herself unable to breath. By Thursday she was gone.

The funeral was a small affair. The Hummel's had a select handful of friends who crowded them with support. Some distant family members from distant cities came to pay their respects. Kurt had taken a week and a half off from school to help his dad with arranging what was necessary. The brief reprieve from the torment of his bullies had been a welcome luxury.

Kurt had a few people he might consider friends, mostly the fellow social outcasts of the after school glee club, but no one particularly close. There was no one to text when something exciting happened, or to invite to see whatever months old movie the Lima Cineplex had finally gotten its hands on. Rachel and Mercedes, his closest friends from the glee club, had dropped by his mother's wake to pay their respects - Rachel pulling him into a hug that lasted just a few seconds too long. He'd appreciated the gesture, but still dreaded the thought of returning to school the following week. As expected, his tormentors hadn't taken his grieving into consideration - making sure to promptly toss him into his usual dumpster upon seeing him on his first day back. "Welcome back, princess," their leader grunted before slamming the lid of the dumpster, Kurt sighing before waiting fifteen minutes to lift himself out of yesterday's garbage.

Despite Elizabeth's death, life went on. Burt made the painful decision to move himself and Kurt out of the home they'd lived in since Kurt was three to a shabbier apartment on outskirts of Lima. Covering the last of Elizabeth's medical bills had taken a major toll on his paychecks, and try as hard as they might their home was never the same - not without her. The new apartment in Lima Acres was meant to be a fresh start, a new beginning for father and son. Yet the apartment was about as grey, dull, and dim as Kurt and Burt both felt.

Christmas was now only four weeks away, nearly seven months since Elizabeth had passed, and there wasn't a decoration in sight. Kurt had attempted to construct a wreath for their door, something he and his mother had always enjoyed doing every year, but found himself frustrated when his artistic vision refused to come to life, tossing the half finished wreath in the trash.

The sight of first snow left Kurt in a particularly foul mood that morning. The fact that he had spilled a bit of his coffee as he poured it into his thermos in his rush to get out the door only made things worse. He ignored the burning sensation in his fingers as his hand began to turn a nasty shade of red, tying his scarf haphazardly and storming out the door. In his huff he'd completely missed the man carrying a stack of heavy boxes up onto his floor, pushing past the grunting man without a second glance. Unfortunately, he didn't notice the second, much younger man carrying an even heavier set of boxes one floor down either, and found himself crashing straight into him. The crash knocked them both down two steps, both of them collapsing roughly on the landing.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, I should've looked up," Kurt apologized quickly, his cheeks as red as his burnt hand as he scrambled to his feet, attempting to restack the man's boxes while he lifted himself back up.

A quick glance at the man he'd knocked over revealed that he wasn't quite a man really, but a boy, about Kurt's age in fact. Despite having been carrying a load of heavy boxes up two flights of stairs thus far, the boy hadn't broken a sweat. In fact, he seemed oddly underdressed for the weather, wearing only a simple pull over sweater and jeans. His dark curls were wild and untamed, matted at the crown of his head, not fitting the rest of his put together persona. He took the box Kurt was struggling to lift from his hands with ease, his fingertips lightly brushing against Kurt's burnt knuckles as he did so. The brief touch sent chills snapping through Kurt's body like a clap of thunder. The skin that had been throbbing with warm pain just moments ago was now cold to the touch. Kurt gasped quietly, quickly shoving his hand back into the pocket of his coat. The boy gave him an odd look, his hazel eyes darting to Kurt's now hidden hand before gathering his boxes and shooting up the stairs without another word.

"I _said_ sorry," Kurt muttered to himself, turning warily and heading out of the building, vaguely hoping that the new strange boy wasn't moving onto their floor.

The odd encounter with the equally odd boy quickly left Kurt's mind as he drove off to McKinley High, foot hovering over the gas nervously as he avoided the slush that had already begun to form on the roads. Arriving at school in one piece, Kurt made a dash for the door, hoping to get into the warmth of the building before the lugs of the football team found him first. He was nearly at the doorway when a wave of bitter ice smacked him off his feet. He landed roughly on the sidewalk, the snow beneath him stained deep purple. A grape slushie, their favorite. Kurt could already feel the ice hardening against his skin as the letterman jacket clad group of goons began to laugh. Their leader, Noah Puckerman, crushed the empty Big Gulp cup in his hand, tossing it beside Kurt.

"Happy first snow, Hummel," Azimio, Puckerman's right hand man spat as the group entered the building.

Kurt took a quick swipe at his cheek, hissing at the burn of the iced drink pulling off of his skin. Thankfully he'd thrown a spare set of clothes into his car earlier that week, knowing that the jocks would likely try to corner him that week. They'd been silent for too long. He wiped off what he could from his cheek and neck, trying to prevent the slushie from dripping any further into his clothing before lifting himself up and heading back to his car. He pulled out the duffel bag with his change of clothes and several packs of wet wipes and rushed off to the bathroom, hoping he could still make it to homeroom before the bell.

He stumbled into homeroom three minutes after the bell, out of breath as he quickly took his seat. He glanced nervously towards Ms. Simon, his homeroom teacher, expecting her to call him over to his desk so she could write out a detention slip for his tardiness. Instead, her desk was empty. Several students were gathered in small groups, chattering excitedly and shooting glances at the empty desk. The class waited and waited for the inevitable substitute, but no one had come to take Ms. Simon's place by the time the bell had rung for first period.

The grape slushie had turned out to be a fitting starter to what turned into an unusual day. In every classroom Kurt entered groups were huddled together, hushed rumors passing between them until a teacher broke them apart and began their lesson. Kurt struggled to catch bits and pieces of what gossip had apparently intrigued the entire school. He'd heard Ms. Simon's name thrown around, and mentions of a police officer stopping a couple of kids for questioning on their way into the building that morning, but not much else.

When the final bell finally rang Kurt rushed to the choir room for glee club rehearsal - anxious to see if Rachel or Mercedes had any idea what was going around the school that day. Not surprisingly, the majority of the glee club had gathered in a cluster, chairs angled towards one another, deep in conversation. Kurt strolled up, taking his usual seat and angling it towards the others before leaning in to whisper to Mercedes.

"Do you have any idea what's going on today?"

Mercedes turned to him with a puzzled look. "You haven't heard?"

"Well it's not like I have anyone to hear from," Kurt muttered, shifting uncomfortably. He spent most days wandering between classes in silence and eating his lunch in the furthest corner of the lunch room. This year his schedule had been the polar opposite of all of his friends from the glee club, and he often found himself never speaking until he got to the choir room for rehearsal.

"Ms. Simon's missing," Mercedes said in a whisper.

"Yeah, she was missing from homeroom this morning. She's probably just out sick," Kurt replied with a shrug. Ms. Simon's absence was hardly worth talking about. She was older, and especially frail. There had been plenty of days when she had to call out sick because she'd fallen ill or broken a bone while trying to do a basic task.

"No I mean she's _missing_ missing. Her daughter called the police to go check on her when she didn't answer her phone all weekend. She wasn't in her apartment and they've been looking for her all over the city."

"She couldn't have gotten that far, she's what - eighty now? Maybe she got lost on her way home from the supermarket," Kurt said with a quiet chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. Mercedes gave him a stern look.

"It isn't funny, Kurt. People really think something bad happened to her."

Kurt shifted uncomfortably, his stomach sinking as the guilt over his unkind comment sank in.

"Do they think it was a break in?" he asked, Rachel suddenly deciding to chime in on their conversation.

"Her apartment looked the same as always, or at least that's what I've heard. A police officer tried to stop me on my way in this morning, but I insisted that I couldn't be bothered until I'd had my morning cup of tea to soothe my vocal chords," she said with a stern nod.

Kurt and Mercedes rolled their eyes, turning to join the larger conversation at hand, led by Finn Hudson, their resident 'popular kid.'

"Puck got stopped on his way in too. These two cops kept asking him all sorts of questions like where he was this weekend, if he'd heard anything about Ms. Simon or if he knew if she had plans for the weekend. Puck was all like, "I don't know shit about Ms. Simon," and the cops started getting really in his face about it."

Kurt rolled his eyes. It wasn't unlike Puckerman to disrespect a figure of authority, but this was especially stupid, even for him.

Mr. Schuester, the glee club director, stepped in and quickly broke up the gossip cluster, insisting that everyone turn their seats around and listen up for their latest assignment. While Mr. Schue went on and on about their latest assignment - duplicity, a concept Kurt barely understood on its own, and definitely didn't understand how it applied to show choir - Kurt sank back in his seat, attempting to process the myriad of strange things that had occured today.

His life had been a vague fog since his mother's desk, no matter how hard he tried to throw himself back into his extracurriculars and make the most of his time with his few friends before his final year of high school came to a close. There were no good days or bad days, every day was another boring, bland day getting him closer to… something. What, he still didn't know.

He had been working on his applications to various colleges in New York, but he was still months from finding out whether his hard work had materialized into anything. There wasn't much Kurt had to look forward to when it came to his day to day life, but when he allowed himself to picture himself in New York City, the cold, drab town of Lima nothing but a memory, he walked with a bit more life in his step. However, even this happiness was short lived, as the guilt at the thought of leaving his still grieving father behind would always follow shortly after.

Ms. Simon's disappearance had obviously rattled the Lima community - Kurt was sure his dad would announce that he was going to be stricter about his curfew once he got home after rehearsal. There had been a lingering feeling of dread in the back of Kurt's mind as he coasted throughout the day, settling more deeply in the forefront of his mind as he continued to tune Mr. Schue out. His skin prickled as he absent mindedly ran his fingertips along the knuckles of what should have been his burnt hand, shivering when he realized the skin was still frozen to the touch. Right where the strange boy from his building had brushed against him.

* * *

 **Authors Note: Well howdy, if you made it all the way to this point chances are you're an actual angel. This is a thing that I started writing at my desk one day because the idea refused to get out of my head. It's loosely inspired by the Swedish film _Let the Right One In,_ but won't be following the original plot by much, just a couple of elements. Please be kind.**


	2. Chapter 2

As expected, Burt cracked down on Kurt's curfew. After finally making his way home from one of the oddest days he'd experienced in some time, Kurt found his father already waiting for him at the kitchen table. Burt didn't usually get back home until 7, sometimes even 8. He'd had to lay off a couple of employees to cover the last few medical bills Elizabeth had left behind and was attempting to cover as many shifts as he possibly could on his own. It was easy for anyone to see that he was quickly running himself into the ground, but no one had the heart to tell him to take a break.

"You're home early," Kurt said warily. The last time his father had come home early from work was the first time they'd had to take his mother to the hospital.

"Sit down, bud," Burt replied, Kurt nervously setting down his bag and sitting across from his father.

"You heard about that teacher from your school going missing?" Burt asked, Kurt rolling his eyes. Yes, Ms. Simon's disappearance was strange and unnerving but he didn't understand why everyone in Lima had decided to get up in arms about it.

"Of course I did, apparently it's all anyone wants to talk about."

"Kurt, I need you to take this seriously. I don't want you roaming around after school until things settle down. You come straight back here after class—"

"What about glee club?" Kurt interrupted.

Burt sighed, taking off his cap as he mulled the thought over. It was no secret to Burt how much being in the glee club meant to his son. Performing was Kurt's passion, and there had never been many opportunities for him to indulge it. Burt and Elizabeth had made several attempts to get Kurt involved in the Lima resident community theatre company, but the theatre's longtime casting director had insisted that there was simply no room for someone of Kurt's 'type'. After the fourth rejection they'd let it go - what was the point of having their son's doing what he loves in a community where he clearly wasn't welcome.

"You can still meet with the glee club. But you come straight home after your rehearsals… meetings… whatever it is that you guys do after school."

Kurt smiled, nodding in silent agreement.

"I also want you to start carrying this." Burt reached into his pocket, pulling out a small red and silver object, placing it on the table and pushing it towards Kurt. Kurt picked up the unfamiliar tool, turning it in his hand and dropping it with a gasp as a blade swung out of an opening he hadn't noticed, revealing itself to be a pocket knife.

"Jesus, you've gotta be careful with it!" Burt scolded, quickly taking the knife back and sliding the blade back into place.

"Really dad, a knife? The most use I could get out of this is shredding Rachel's offensively hideous sweaters." Kurt crossed his arms in protest - the thought of carrying around a weapon was extremely unappealing. He'd always considered himself a pacifist - a lover, not a fighter. His lack of retaliation when it came to his school tormentors proved as much… or proved that he wasn't as brave as he thought he was.

"You never know when you might need it, and I know you probably think I'm overreacting but… things like just don't happen 'round here, Kurt. There's a reason your mom and I chose to settle down here."

Burt had a fair point. The biggest local crime in Lima to date was when a football player from Westerville stole the McKinley mascot suit, returning it tarred and feathered two days before their big play off game.

"I'll sleep a lot easier knowing you at least have some kind of protection on you, alright? I'm not saying you'll have to use it, but I wanna be safe," he pleaded, pushing the pocket knife back towards Kurt.

Kurt sighed, biting his lip before taking back to the pocket knife, holding it cautiously. He tucked it into the pocket of his messenger back, hoping it would be the last he'd have to see of it. The last person that should be entrusted with a pocket knife was Kurt Hummel, accident-causer and klutz extraordinaire.

"Well, thank you for this unnerving discussion. I'll do my best not to accidentally cut off a finger - mine or otherwise," Kurt said as he stood up, shrugging his coat back on and making his way back over to the door.

"Did you even listen to a word I just said? Where are you going now?" Burt asked, throwing his hands up in disbelief.

"To the community garden - if I let any frost grow on my string beans then they'll never survive the week. You'll be able to see me from three different windows, I'll be fine."

"But Kurt—"

"And my curfew isn't until six," Kurt responded with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Fine," Burt sighed, slumping in his chair in defeat. Raising that boy without Elizabeth was going to be the death of him.

Kurt made his way down to the community garden with a triumphant smirk. Gardening had been one of Elizabeth's many passions - and part of what made her such an excellent cook. Kurt had taken on his mother's usual cooking duties once she became too weak to do them herself, and while he fancied himself an intermediate level chef, his food never had the same spark as his mother's. The garden at their old family home went untended for many months, but Kurt became excited by the idea of picking it up again when he spotted the modest, but fruitful, fenced off patch of soil in the center of their new apartment complex. Kurt hoped that growing his own herbs and a select few vegetables would finally give his recipes the elevation they desperately needed. The community garden wasn't used by many of the complex's residents, and Kurt was quickly able to take over a sizable patch of soil as his own. The rapidly approaching winter would throw a wrench into his growing schedule, but he would try his best to keep the cold from ruining the hard work he'd already put into his humble garden.

Kurt brushed his gloved hand over the small patch of earth, brushing the snow onto the rival patch beside his. It belonged to a Mrs. Holiday, an attractive woman who lived with her husband on the floor below Kurt's who had an enviously wonderful green thumb, whose window sill was always packed to the brim with lush greenery.

Kurt sat back after he finished brushing off his meager seedlings, shivering slightly at the harsh breeze. He noticed something peculiar out of the corner of his eye, looking up towards his apartment window, expecting to see his father perched diligently at the window keeping an eye on him. Instead he noticed the window directly next to his apartment. The previous tenants had cleared out earlier in the month - a young newlywed couple that had finally saved up enough money to buy themselves a starter home out in Westerville. It looked like their new neighbors had… odd tastes, to say the least. The two windows to the neighboring apartment were completely covered with what looked like bits of newspapers, magazines, and cardboard. Kurt could see the latest cover of Vogue carefully covering a crack in the larger window and wrinkled his nose. Clearly their new neighbors didn't have an ounce of taste if they were using Vogue as scrap paper.

"There's a better chance they'll grow if you put a blanket over them," said a voice over Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt nearly leapt out of his skin as he fell over in his haste to twist around to see who had spoken to him. The boy from earlier stood just feet away from him, his expression unreadable as he watched Kurt struggle to catch his breath.

"Do I know you?" Kurt replied rather rudely. All thoughts about being polite went out the window - this stranger's creeping up on him had nearly led to him falling over and breaking his neck.

"Your onions. They have a long growing season, so if you let the frost get to them too soon you won't even know they're not feasible until spring. If you keep a fleece over them through the winter there's a greater chance they won't freeze over," the boy said matter-of-factly, strolling over to Kurt's patch of garden and brushing off the bits of snow Kurt had missed using a bare, ungloved hand.

"Thank you?" Kurt responded warily, taking a step away from the boy once he'd finally gotten back onto his feet.

The boy shrugged, tucking his hands back into the pockets of his chinos. He was still wearing the thin pull over sweater from earlier in the day - just the sight of him against the snowy backdrop behind him sent chills down Kurt's spine. How he wasn't minutes away from succumbing to frost bite was an absolute wonder. His hair was just as matted before - it took enormous will power on Kurt's part to not reach over and attempt untangle the boy's nestlike hair.

"Did you just move in?" Kurt asked, attempting to get some kind of non-vegetable related information out of the increasingly strange boy.

He nodded, shifting his gaze towards the covered windows of Kurt's neighboring apartment.

"Looks like we'll be neighbors," he said, giving the windows a scrutinizing gaze.

Kurt's eyebrows raised in surprise as he shot another look towards the covered windows. Naturally his one request to the universe had been denied. Hopefully his new neighbors' strange behavior ended with giving unwanted gardening advice, but he knew that was unlikely.

"I see you're going for a John Nash decorative motif," he teased in a half hearted attempt to break the ice. At the very least he could see if the boy had any sense of humor.

Instead the boy remained silent, finally breaking his gaze from the windows to give Kurt a blank look. Kurt shifted awkwardly as the silence between them stretched uncomfortably.

"John Nash? From A Beautiful Mind?" Still nothing. "Russell Crowe and Jennifer Connelly? It won the Oscar for Best Picture in 2001?" Kurt continued, but the boy remained unmoving, unblinking, and unamused.

Finally, he shrugged. "Guess I haven't seen it."

Groaning internally, Kurt kicked the snow at his feet. Well, cinema wasn't an interest they had in common, and quite frankly he wasn't interested in sticking around to find out if they had anything in common.

"Well, you should check it out sometime," he said with a disinterested parting smile before turning to walk back towards the entrance to the building.

Kurt was nearly to the door when he heard the snow crunching behind him.

"My name is Blaine," the boy - Blaine - called out. Kurt struggled to hide his confusion as he turned back around.

"Uh, hi. I'm Kurt. Nice to meet you." Kurt briefly considered offering up his hand to shake, but thought better of it when he remembered the chill that had stayed with him for hours when their hands had brushed earlier.

Once again the silence between stretched between them. Blaine's eyes, an interesting mix of hazel and specks of gold, Kurt noticed, were unreadable. His petite body shifted back slightly, his eyes hardening, shifting to a cooler tone before he spoke again.

"Just so you know, I can't be your friend," he said sternly, his gaze not quite hateful, but still unsettling nonetheless.

Kurt's lips parted in shock at his boldness. The boy with the matted hair, and expressionless eyes, who apparently had a treasure trove of information on planting vegetables didn't want to be Kurt's friend. This was an all new low for him.

"And what makes you think I wanted to be your friend in the first place?" Kurt spat back, crossing his arms and standing his ground firmly.

Blaine shrugged, shifting his gaze from Kurt to the ground.

"Figured I'd let you know now," he replied. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Gee, thanks for the pointless information," he responded bitterly, turning and heading into the building before Blaine could say anything more.

Kurt dashed up the stairs back to his apartment, wanting to get as far away from the unpleasant interaction as possible, hoping Blaine wouldn't follow after him again. He slammed the door behind him, quickly locking it and tossing his coat into the closet, making a beeline for his bedroom. Burt looked up from his spot on the couch, lowering the volume on the football game to turn to Kurt.

"Whoa, whoa what's the rush? The vegetables upset you or something?" he teased with a laugh, taking a sip of his beer.

Kurt remained silent, heading into his room and beginning to change out of his snow boots and multiple layers. Burt glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of Blaine before the other boy finally made his way back inside.

"You talk to the new kid while you were out there?" he called out to Kurt.

"Unfortunately," Kurt muttered, Burt unable to hear him from the next room.

"Kid must be nuts going out like that. Probably moved here from the West Coast or something."

"Well, he's made it clear that he doesn't want to be my friend and I'm happy to keep it that way," Kurt replied, loud enough for his father to hear this time as he headed into the kitchen to begin putting together dinner.

"Yeesh, Kurt, no need to blacklist the kid just because he doesn't know how to bundle up. I know you're passionate about your layers but cut the kid some slack."

"I'm not blacklisting him. He told me he didn't want to be my friend. Not that I asked him in the first place," Kurt spat, slamming a pot down on the stove with more force than was necessary.

"He told you he didn't want to be your friend?" Burt parroted back, setting his beer down on the counter across from Kurt.

"His words, not mine. Literally. That's exactly what he said."

Burt's brow furrowed. The kids in the neighborhood were getting stranger and stranger by the day.

"He could be going through a rough time, you never know. I saw him moving in when I got back earlier - he's living with what I would guess is his brother. Big burly guy. Looked way too young to be his dad."

"Maybe it's his boyfriend," Kurt said with a shrug, wishing the conversation would shift away from Blaine so he could focus on more important things. Or just anything else.

"Hm. Definitely didn't seem that way," Burt replied warily. "The point is, give him some time. Maybe he'll come around. It could be fun to have someone your age in the building - you could carpool or something."

Kurt gagged at the idea of having to carpool with Blaine and immediately began mapping out a way to avoid seeing him on his morning commute to keep the idea of a carpool as far out of the question as possible.

"I'm fine with the friends I have. No need to add the new kid to the mix," Kurt replied bitterly as he began to boil water for pasta.

Burt sighed but let it go, he could see that Kurt wasn't in the mood to continue the conversation. It was in both of their best interests for Burt to return to the couch and let Kurt focus on dinner in peace. He had his mothers temper.

Dinner was mostly silent, Kurt asked a couple of questions about the shop and threw in a couple of questions about the game to make his father happy. Burt offered to do the dishes, Kurt grateful for the chance to catch up on an episode of mindless TV before heading off to bed. On his way to his own bedroom Burt noticed Kurt passed out on his bed, his laptop still open on his chest. Burt smiled, gently lifting Kurt's laptop and setting it aside on his desk. His brows furrowed as he caught a glimpse of the page he'd left open. What was his son doing looking up sociopathy? Not wanting to pry, Burt tried to push it out of his mind, hoping Kurt was just doing research for a school project, or something or other.

The Hummel family turned in early that evening, both in their beds before 11pm. Perhaps it was for the best, as they missed the sudden switch on the local news from weather updates to a breaking news report. Halfway across Lima a crowd had gathered at the small lake in the center of Lima Central Park. Police pushed aside the pedestrian onlookers as they did their best to keep things under wraps, but the news travelled more quickly than they could've imagined. That morning it would be all anyone could talk about: Ms. Simon's burned and mutilated body, found floating face down in the water.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed thus far - it means a lot! The next update may not come as quickly as this one, since it'll be on the longer side and I'm about to embark on a week long birthday celebration! This is my last update as a 22 year old - see you all when I'm 23.**


	3. Chapter 3

Ms. Simon's disappearance was all anyone in Lima was talking about for a full 24 hours. The discovery of her body was all anyone would talk about for the rest of the year. The Lima Daily Sun had managed to put together a seven page spread on the discovery of the body - complete with interviews with police officials and family members, all before the papers went out that morning at 6am. It was a journalistic feat, one had to admit, and it was by far the most captivating story Lima had seen in decades.

Burt absorbed all seven pages of the story in shock and horror, not touching his breakfast of eggs and bacon for fear of making himself ill. He stormed into Kurt's room, whacking his son awake with the rolled up newspaper.

"Dad, what're you doing?!" Kurt shouted in protest, attempting to pull the covers back over his head.

"Look at this, Kurt! This is why you need to stick to your curfew!" Burt replied frantically, unrolling the newspaper so Kurt could see the front page headline.

"W-wha…" Kurt blinked blearily up at the newspaper, taking it from his father's grasp as he sat up in bed.

"They found her body burned and torn to bits in that lake in the park. That's not too far from McKinley, Kurt. You have to be safe out there."

Kurt swallowed hard as he skimmed the description of the body. Whoever had abducted and killed Ms. Simon had no cares about being kind to the elderly woman.

"Well, this really set the tone for the day. Thanks for that, dad," Kurt replied sarcastically, setting the paper aside and shrugging himself out of bed. There was no way he could get back to sleep now, not after reading the grotesque description of what had happened to his former teacher.

"Do you want to stay home from school today, bud? I bet a lot of parents won't even be letting their kids go in today."

Kurt shrugged once again, lazily setting up a fresh pot of coffee. "I have a test in French today, I might as well go."

Burt took a seat at the kitchen table, biting his lip, still unsure if he should allow Kurt out of the apartment. Kurt noted his father's worried expression, pulling up a seat beside him.

"Dad, you're gonna worry yourself sick if you read too much into this. Look at Ms. Simon and look at me. If the person who did this has a type it's clearly not me," he reasoned. Burt nodded slowly.

"Alright. But I need you to be extra diligent out there. The person who did this is a sicko, and you never know who it could be."

Kurt nodded. The thought of a murderer in Lima would've seemed laughable a week ago. Sure, his bullies were masochists and tormentors, but they'd probably burn off their energy by the time college came around and would resort to petty crime to get their thrills. The people in Lima weren't the brightest, kindest, or best at anything at all, if you asked Kurt. He couldn't think of a single person who had the mental or physical capacity to pull off a crime like this. It was the thought of an outsider that worried him and his father. A stranger. Who knew what a stranger could be capable of.

* * *

Dave clicked from channel to channel, groaning as dread began to set in. The local news was completely absorbed by the story about Ms. Simon's body. Every newscaster in Lima was reporting the same facts over and over. It would've been incredibly annoying if it wasn't already absolutely terrifying.

"It's everywhere," Blaine murmured, Dave jumping in surprise as he turned to face him.

"You're up early…" Dave replied, a pitiful attempt to change the subject.

Blaine remained silent, stepping up to the TV and turning it off, their small apartment returned to its typical darkness.

"It's barely been a month and you've already let me down," Blaine said so quietly Dave had to strain his ears.

"I… I-I'm sorry. I really didn't know this would turn into anything. A-and she was small, I knew I could grab her without—"

"You chose the easy option. You didn't think any of it through," he cut off sharply.

Dave whimpered, beginning to curl in on himself as Blaine approached him, his eyes, dark as coals, still able to pierce through him in the darkness.

"I-I promise I'll be better next time. I-I… I can go out again tonight, find someone new," he offered.

The thought of going out there again, of finding another victim, made his stomach churn. It had been difficult enough for him to muster up the courage just last week. The first time had been easy. He'd witnessed a car accident and quickly scooped up the fifth victim, a young woman, and hid her away before the authorities had arrived.

This time he'd spent hours driving along the perimeter of the small town, sucking in a deep breath when he saw the elderly woman strolling down the street, arms full of groceries. He'd offered to help her, turned on what bit of charm he had left in him. She seemed wary, but was not in much of a position to turn down such help. It had been easier than he thought it would be - she crumpled in his hands, her body breaking under his fingers like an eggshell. It was that same weakness that made her useless. She barely had any life left in her - there was barely anything left of her to bring home to Blaine, and what little he salvaged was tainted. She tasted like a medicinal cocktail, he'd said. Her blood ran so strong with so many different medications it hardly tasted like anything at all.

She helped keep his hunger at bay for about two days. It was the least substantial feeding Blaine had ever experienced. A pain like no other had settled in the pit of his stomach, clawing at him, begging for more.

"No. I'll handle this myself," he replied bitterly, turning on his heels and going back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Dave attempted to stifle his sobs for the first few minutes, waiting until he was sure Blaine had fallen back asleep before burying his face in his knees. He sobbed into the fabric of his jeans, his fingers digging roughly into his arm, though careful not to draw blood. The thought of failing Blaine again was far more terrifying than the thought of finding another victim. He would be better next time. He had to.

* * *

Burt was right in his suspicions, the hallways of McKinley were unusually empty the morning after the discovery of Ms. Simon's body. Rachel, Mercedes, Finn, and even Artie, who'd been gunning for the 'perfect four year attendance award' at graduation had stayed home. Mr. Schue cut their scheduled glee club rehearsal down to 30 minutes when only Kurt, Tina, and their newest members, Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez, showed up.

It was eerie to spend the day in half-filled classrooms. For once Kurt could actually hear himself think in the cafeteria - there was hardly any chatter at all, only the sounds of utensils scraping against plates. Something in Kurt's stomach told him he should've taken up his dad's offer and stayed home.

After rehearsing Santana and Tina's duet for sectionals for what felt like the hundredth time, Mr. Schue finally called the end of the rehearsal. For Santana and Kurt it had felt like a waste of half an hour, but he was grateful for even the tiniest bit of normality that day. Kurt trudged through the piling snow to his car. He usually didn't get Thursday evenings off, so this was a welcome surprise. He'd allowed his mind to wander, dreaming up how he could spend his newfound free time when a hunk of ice went flying past his face. Kurt yelped, jumping back and slipping on the slush behind him. Kurt groaned when the culprit, Puck stepped out from his hiding spot behind Kurt's car.

"You're supposed to let it hit you, Hummel," he scolded, already reaching for another hunk of ice that had gathered beside Kurt's car tires.

"I'm not your sitting duck, Puckerman," Kurt spat back, quickly getting back to his feet and attempting to head back into the building, thinking he could wait until Puck had tired himself out before he could return to the safety of his car. Azimio appeared in Kurt's path, stepping out from behind a nearby tree.

"Why don't you go do what you're told and stand still?"

Kurt gulped, backing up slowly. He glanced over his shoulder, Puck had managed to find an even bigger hunk of ice than before. Biting down on his lip Kurt struggled to think up an exit strategy. The sun had set just moments earlier, shrouding the parking lot in near darkness. By the light of a nearby streetlamp he could see another Letterman jacket clad goon guarding the entrance back into McKinley. He could stand by and let Puck do what he wanted, but a sick feeling in his stomach told him the hunk of ice would hurt a hell of a lot more than a slushie to the face.

"Why don't you guys find something better to do with your time?" a voice called out.

Everyone turned to find the source of the voice, though there was no one else visible in the darkness of the parking lot. Kurt shifted, hoping that the boys were distracted enough that he could make a run for it, but they held their posts.

"Who the hell are you?" Puck called out, his grip tightening on the ice, his palms reddening from the cold as someone came into view.

Kurt gasped quietly as he realized he recognized the unfamiliar voice. It was Blaine, clad in that same red pull over sweater, unfazed by the cold. He seemed different than before, his hair somehow wilder, his skin sallow and his eyes sunken. If he hadn't known any better Kurt would've assumed he was homeless, or at the very least one of the stoners that hung around the bleachers during school. Suddenly the smell of rotting meat cut through the air, Kurt flinching as it reached his nostrils, Azimio faltering as the smell wafted towards him as well.

"You should leave," Blaine said to Puck, taking another step towards him. Puck staggered back as the smell of rot became overpowering. He held his grip on the ice, now to use as a weapon of defense, as he covered his mouth, fighting off the urge to be sick.

"Listen, whoever you are you're gonna wanna back the fuck off. Our business here's with Hummel, not you," Puck spat back, surprised by the control he still had over his voice despite the nausea that had overcome him.

Blaine remained silent, Kurt holding his breath as he watched him take yet another step towards Puck. Azimio abandoned his spot by Kurt, flanking Puck for back up.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

One second Puck was lifting the ice over his head, prepared to strike Blaine down. The next Puck was crumpled on the ground, yowling and screaming bloody murder as he gripped three broken fingers. The next, Azimio charged at Blaine, prepared to use his fists to take him down. The next, Azimio had fallen beside Puck, crying out as realized his leg had been bent so far forward the bone had snapped clean in half.

Kurt stood frozen, shaking from fear and the cold. He cautiously peeked up at Blaine, terrified that he would be next if he dared to take a step out of place. Blaine had barely moved, looking up from the boys before him to lock eyes with Kurt. His eyes were darker, impossibly black. Kurt would've remembered if they had been that dark before.

"It's safe for you to go home now," Blaine said, stepping out of the way of Kurt's car.

"Thank you… I-I don't know what to say," Kurt stammered out, his hands shaking as they tightened their grip around his car keys. They could be used as a weapon if necessary, but they would be no match against whatever hidden strength Blaine had.

"You don't have to say anything. Just go home." It was clear that this was a command, not a suggestion.

Kurt nodded, getting into his car as quickly as he could. He did his best to keep his eyes on the road as he pulled out of the parking lot, fighting off the urge to glance back at Blaine in the rear view mirror. He bit his lip, giving in to his curiosity and turned, looking out the window. Puck and Azimio remained on the ground, alternating between sobs and screams for help, clutching their broken limbs - but it was only them. Kurt's breath hitched as he frantically scanned the parking lot for any sign of Blaine, but there was nothing. He was already gone.

* * *

It would've been so easy.

Blaine had seen the flashes of what was to come - three boys attacking a classmate, knocking him to the ground with a hunk of ice and fleeing at the first sight of blood flowing from a gash on the back of his head. They would pile into a nearby car and drive off without a second glance at what they'd done, and Blaine would've been free to scoop up their target and take him for himself. He waited patiently from his spot several feet away, watching the boys bicker back and forth. His stomach clenched, his hunger growing stronger with each passing second. He could practically taste the soon to be shed blood, his mouth watering and his fingers curling into white knuckled fists.

But then he'd looked closer and realized the boy who would soon be attacked was strangely familiar. It was Kurt, the boy from his apartment building whose rosey cheeks had drawn Blaine to him. Blaine's stomach lurched. The thought of Kurt wounded on the ground, vulnerable, unconscious, the perfect victim, deeply unsettled him. He knew nothing about the boy besides his name and his apartment number, but he was still too familiar. Blaine only took strangers, and Kurt wasn't enough of a stranger for him to justify his needs.

Stepping out and speaking directly to Kurt's attackers was a foolish mistake, but it was the only option. He could blindly attack the men surrounding Kurt, giving the other boy the chance to make a run for it, but Blaine wasn't confident in his self-restraint.

However, the burly boys quickly proved that force would be necessary. They ignored Blaine's warnings, and were given what they deserved. Blaine wasn't a fan of violence unless absolutely necessary, but if these boys had known what their 'prank' would have led to, they would see their punishment was more than fair. Kurt escaped unscathed, putting Blaine at ease. Once the temptation of Kurt was gone Blaine was soon faced with a new temptation. Blood flowed freely from the two boys he'd attacked, the scent of them overpowering. Blaine's hunger burned harsher than it ever had, begging him to take what he deserved. It was too dangerous. There had been witnesses - a third boy who had run off moments after Blaine appeared, and Kurt. Blaine may have saved Kurt's life, but it didn't mean he might not turn against him.

Breaking himself out of the trance his hunger held over him, Blaine scowled, running away from the bleedings boys as he quickly as he could. He ran and ran and ran for what felt like hours, his hunger growing with each step. He'd forgotten what it was like to be weak, to be overwhelmed by something out of your control. He finally slowed to a walk as the scent of fresh blood washed over him once again. It was close, very close. He'd found himself on a densely wooded back road - the sound of whimpering bouncing off the low hanging branches. He stepped out onto the dirt road, a large dog crumpled in a heap on the ground, blood leaking from its injured paw. He looked around cautiously for others, though the tire tracks in the mud beside the dog made it clear it's attacker had fled the scene.

He lunged before he could think too much about what he was doing. Animals didn't provide nearly the same strength that humans did, and Blaine always found the flavor unappealing, but he didn't have the luxury of picking and choosing. He sunk his teeth into the side of the dogs neck, silencing its whimpering. He closed his eyes as his muscles finally began to relax, allowing himself to give in to the animalistic instincts he'd been able to hide for so many years.

* * *

Whenever Kurt is upset, he bakes. And when he bakes, he bakes _hard_. His confrontation with Puck and his goons after school would've been nothing out of the ordinary if Blaine hadn't come to his rescue - if it could even be called that. Blaine had done what some might call more harm than good. Sure, Puck getting a taste of his own medicine was something Kurt could get behind - in fact, he'd often daydreamed during class about throwing an extra large slushie into his bullies' faces one day. Whether or not Puck and Azimio deserved to lay in the snow, bleeding and broken and crying for their mothers, was what Kurt was struggling with...

Which was how Kurt wound up with five trays of freshly baked cookies. He'd taken the extra bit of free time he'd had that night to try out the recipes he'd been saving for a rainy day, even taking on the most complicated recipe he'd done thus far. Stress baking was a habit Kurt had gotten into early in his life. His mother had given him the idea during the Lima Community Theatre debacle, which often left Kurt upset for days at a time. She'd taught him a basic chocolate chip cookie recipe to keep him occupied on something other than his anger and confusion, and as the years went on he'd moved on to more complex desserts. One year after a particularly nasty argument with his dad over a stain in one of Kurt's vintage vests Kurt had made a baked alaska for dinner, complete with flames. Burt was too impressed to hold onto his anger.

Kurt had hoped the anxious, sinking feeling in his stomach would've gone away by the time he pulled the fifth tray from the oven. He took a bite out of the steaming hot snickerdoodle without thinking, yelping as he quickly spit it out onto a napkin and began to fan off his burnt tongue.

"What're you trying to open up shop?" asked Burt as he stepped into the apartment, eyes wide at the sight of their kitchen completely taken up by cookies.

"Bad day," Kurt managed to get out, his burnt tongue still sticking out of his mouth.

"Well, so long as you're not hurting yourself," he teased, inspecting the trays before picking up a sugar cookie that was deemed a safe temperature. "Usually I wouldn't complain about cookies, but I'm pretty sure it'd take us weeks to get through all of these, and no one wants to munch on stale cookies."

Kurt nodded in agreement. He'd definitely overdone it - he usually didn't eat more than two or three cookies at a time, and those were on days that he was feeling especially down.

"You could give some to the neighbors. Call it a welcome to the building gift," Burt offered, taking one last cookie before heading off to his room to change out of his coveralls.

Kurt bit his lip in thought. The idea of seeing Blaine again gave him goosebumps. All he could remember was the blackness of his once brown eyes, piercing right through him like an animal. On the other hand, he hadn't properly thanked Blaine for keeping him safe. Granted, Blaine had commanded him to get into his car and drive away from the scene, but Kurt had still left him behind to deal with the mess Puck and Azimio had gotten themselves into.

Before he could overthink, Kurt began to pack away the trays of cookies. He set aside a plate for his dad, and packed away a couple for Rachel and Mercedes, sorting the rest into various tupperwares. He spent far too much time creating labels for each tupperware, making sure to double and triple check every recipe for its ingredients before writing them down on the label. The last thing he wanted was his gift to send Blaine or anyone in his apartment into anaphylactic shock because of him.

He bit down on his lip and sucked in a deep breath for courage before calling out a quick goodbye to his dad and heading to the apartment next door. The courage was knocked right out of him when he collided with a large, sturdy body nearly seconds after stepping out of his own apartment. The tupperwares tumbled out of Kurt's arms, one breaking open and scattering sugar cookies across the carpeted floor. Kurt cursed under his breath as he quickly knelt down to clean up his mess. He glanced up for a moment to apologize to the person he'd bumped into, freezing when he realized it was the same man he'd seen moving in with Blaine just days earlier.

The man couldn't have been older than twenty-one, his face strangely mature but still rounded with stubborn baby fat. He was larger than Kurt had remembered, his hulking physique similar to McKinley's football players. He shot Kurt a dirty look when he noticed his gaze.

"What're you looking at?" he spat, slamming the door to the apartment behind him.

"Nothing, nothing, I-I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled nervously, quickly averting his eyes back to picking up the fallen cookies, rosy warmth shooting up his cheeks to the roots of his hair.

The man continued to glare at Kurt, looking as though he was going to speak, his mouth opening before he was cut off.

"David. You have somewhere to be."

The sound of Blaine's voice made both boys go rigid - David more so than Kurt. He was stunned in place as Blaine suddenly appeared in the stairwell. Kurt could feel his hands trembling around the cookie in his hand. He wasn't sure what it was about Blaine that made him so incredibly nervous. Just the sight of him, expression as unreadable as always, at the top of the stairs made Kurt's heart quicken its pace and his body shiver.

The other boy, David, made a guttural noise in response, Blaine's stare hardening. He shot one last glance down at Kurt before storming off as quickly as he could down the stairs, passing by Blaine without even a passing look. Blaine stepped up to his apartment, beginning to unlock the door while Kurt's eyes remained focused on him, his hand thankfully no longer shaking.

"Did he hurt you?" Blaine asked without looking down at Kurt.

"W-what? No… I bumped into him on my way out, it was my fault," Kurt quickly replied, not wanting to cause any more undo tension between him and Blaine's strange companion.

Blaine unlocked the door to his apartment, leaning against the frame and finally turning to look down at Kurt and the collection of tupperwares around him.

"Looks like you have your arms full," he observed, raising an eyebrow.

Kurt's blush somehow managed to grow an even deeper shade of red as he snapped out of his trance, quickly recollecting his bearings and standing back up.

"Well, actually, I… I, uh, made these for you," Kurt said, nervously holding up the tupperware in offering. "For helping me out with those guys back in the parking lot."

Blaine eyed the tupperwares with what looked like apprehension, his brow furrowing in thought. Kurt found himself immediately regretting taking his dad's advice. Blaine had made it clear he didn't want to be Kurt's friend - he'd explicitly stated it, in fact. Now here Kurt was, offering up desserts in an uncharacteristically pathetic and eager move. The next thing he knew, he was rambling.

"They're just sugar cookies. And chocolate chip cookies. And snickerdoodles and shortbread. But it was nothing. I was going to make them anyway but my dad suggested I bring some over to you guys as a welcoming gift, but that's du—"

"Thank you. This is really sweet of you," Blaine interrupted, Kurt surprised but grateful as he reached over and took the stack of tupperwares from Kurt. Blaine leaned against the door, pushing it open with his shoulder, biting his lip before he spoke again. "Do you want to come inside?" he asked, nodding his heads towards his apartment.

Kurt let out a quiet sound of surprise. The last thing he'd expected was an invitation into Blaine's home. Blaine was quickly revealing himself to be an intriguing, frustrating, and terrifying character. As nervous as the thought of entering Blaine's apartment made him, Kurt couldn't resist the temptation.

"I thought you said we couldn't be friends," Kurt said with a smirk. He also couldn't resist the perfect opportunity for snark.

Blaine laughed, the first true sign of emotion Kurt had seen on his face since they'd met. The sight brought a small, sheepish smile to Kurt's lips. He'd forgotten what it felt like to make a stranger laugh.

"I'm not saying my friendship can be bought, but cookies are a pretty good start," he replied, smiling shyly before pushing the door further open, Kurt returning the smile and stepping inside cautiously.

The apartment was nearly identical to Kurt's own, from the layout to the drab grey walls. There was a collection of boxes propped up in one corner beside a tangle of blankets and a small, worn mattress, but not much else.

"I see you're not in a rush to unpack," Kurt observed as he stepped into the middle of the room.

Kurt winced as Blaine closed the door behind him, that same smell from earlier creeping up on him once again. It wasn't as overpowering as it had been earlier, but it still sent chills along his spine.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked, noticing Kurt's visible discomfort.

"Yeah, m'fine," Kurt mumbled, shifting to keep his nose down in a manner that wasn't too rude. "Just smelled something strange."

Blaine frowned, stepping past Kurt and heading into the bedroom off the living room, keeping the door mostly closed before he reappeared wearing a sweatshirt.

"Better?" he asked.

The smell was still lingering, but it was faint enough that Kurt could push it out of his mind. He nodded shyly, Blaine giving him an equally shy smile in return.

"So what brings you and your brother to Lima Gardens?" Kurt asked, casually walking towards the stack of boxes in the corner.

"My brother?" Blaine asked with a confused look, taking a seat on the ground in the center of the room.

"The guy from two minutes ago."

Blaine rolled his eyes before responding. "Dave isn't my brother. He's… a friend. He helps me out with things," Blaine said with a shrug. Blaine's answer only threw Kurt off even more. How could someone as young as Dave be helping out Blaine.

"Do you guys go to school around here?"

"No. Dave just picked up a truck driving job. He won't be around much."

Kurt was secretly relieved. The less he saw of Dave around the building the better.

"And what about you?" Kurt asked, turning to face Blaine. The other boy shrugged once again before responding.

"I've taught myself everything I need to know."

"So… you're homeschooled?" Kurt asked, confused.

"You ask a lot of questions," Blaine replied instead of answering, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Kurt blushed, shrinking in on himself slightly. "You're a mysterious person. You can't blame me for asking questions," he replied defensively, frowning when Blaine laughed at his reply.

"Fair enough, I can't blame you for that," he replied, standing up and walking towards Kurt. "Does this mean I get to ask you questions?" he asked, standing just close enough to Kurt to make him stumble back nervously, nearly knocking over a box in the process.

"You can, but I can't promise that it'll be worth it. I'm not as interesting as I may seem," he replied, setting the box he'd knocked aside on the ground.

"I think you're interesting," Blaine replied earnestly. Kurt blushed, attempting to hide his reddened cheeks.

"You barely know me."

"Then that's a good sign if I find you interesting already."

Kurt couldn't help letting out a quiet laugh, nodding wordlessly before sitting gingerly on the edge of box packed to the brim with books.

"Alright then. Ask away."

Blaine sat opposite him on the worn out mattress, his eyes completely focused on Kurt when he spoke.

"What's something that makes you happy?"

Kurt's brow furrowed. "That's a bit personal for a get to know you question."

"What better way to get to know you than by asking personal questions?" Blaine replied with a cheeky grin.

"Fine, but I reserve the right to turn down any question that's too personal," Kurt warned cautiously.

"Deal."

Kurt bit his lip as he pondered Blaine's question. Many things made him happy, or at least they once did. In recent months the things that had once brought him so much joy had soured. His baking was rooted in him being upset, so it seldom brought him true happiness. He'd still kept up his gardening, knitting, and embroidery, but they were all, at their core, vain attempts to bring his mother back into his home. The glee club crossed his mind. While he hated high school with a passion the New Directions were the one solace that he had during what were otherwise unbearable days. It was the one thing that still made him purely happy.

"I like to sing. I'm in the glee club at McKinley. We're not very good… well, yet. But it's nice to be able to sing for a couple of hours every week. It's more fulfilling than singing around the house," Kurt answered, his cheeks still warm as he spoke. He hadn't expected things to take such a personal turn so quickly.

"What's your favorite song to sing?" Blaine asked without missing a beat.

"You've moved on to the tough questions I see," Kurt teased before mulling over the question. "Defying Gravity, from Wicked. I've never gotten the chance to sing it in glee club - I think a certain someone on the team would go into cardiac arrest if someone other than her sang something from the Wicked score," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Blaine's eyes, now back to the warm hazel that Kurt had remembered from their first meeting, lit up at Kurt's answer, his lips parting slightly. He stood up without a word, walking over to a stack of boxes atop a large wooden chest. He quickly cleared away the boxes, undoing a series of complicated locks on the chest before pulling it open. Kurt was taken aback as whatever the chest contained glimmered in the bit of dim light in the room. He leaned forward, trying to get a look at what was inside, but before he could Blaine had slammed it shut once more.

Blaine returned to his place in front of Kurt, handing him a large, ornate black frame. Kurt's mouth opened to question him, only for his words to melt into a gasp as he realized what was in his hands.

It was a Wicked poster, not unlike the one Kurt had in his own room, completely covered in signatures. Kurt quickly spotted Idina Menzel's name, her gold Sharpie signature standing out among the rest. He continued scanning the poster, finding Kristin Chenoweth and Norbert Leo Butz amongst the rest of the original cast.

"Blaine… how did you get this?! This must be worth hundreds of dollars!" In fact Kurt was certain it was worth hundreds of dollars, he'd spent a good chunk of time just last year staring longingly at an eBay listing for a Playbill signed by the original cast. "And it's signed by Stephen Schwartz too?! This is insane!" Kurt exclaimed, Blaine smiling at Kurt's enthusiasm.

"You can have it," Blaine said casually, as though he was lending Kurt an extra pair of socks.

Kurt finally looked up from the poster, completely stunned.

"You can't be serious?" he replied, attempting to hand the poster back to Blaine.

"It makes you happier than it's ever made me," Blaine responded, firmly placing the frame back in Kurt's hands.

"But this is worth a lot of money. Even if you don't like it you could just sell it."

Blaine shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "I don't need money. And why sell it when I can use it to make someone happy?"

Kurt opened his mouth to protest once more, but instead allowed himself to accept Blaine's kindness.

"Thank you," he replied, smiling warmly as he hugged the frame close to his chest. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for Kurt in what felt like years.

Blaine returned the smile, eyes finally shifting away from Kurt as he tugged at a loose string on his hoodie. He seemed nervous, shy even. Something he hadn't seemed capable of just moments ago. For once he seemed… human. He was just a normal teenage boy, just like Kurt.

Kurt smiled as he took one last look at the poster before setting it aside and sitting back down beside Blaine, prepared to continue his question and answer game. Maybe being friends with the strange boy next door wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for the birthday wishes and for reading! So far 23 is exactly the same as 22, who would've thought.**


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